


War and Peace

by nikkixsensei



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25502626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkixsensei/pseuds/nikkixsensei
Summary: A rewrite of the closing scene from 2x20 - "Quon Zhang". After confronting Tom, Lizzie ventures to Red's apartment.
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

"In love, there are two evils: war and peace."

\- Horace

* * *

_Tell me what happened. Please._

He would never lie to Lizzie; that was Raymond Reddington's golden rule, and he was nothing if not a man of his word. In turn, one would surmise that would also entail never denying her anything she were to ask of him, but events from 26 years ago and their ramifications were topics he knew she wasn't equipped to deal with.

Not yet.

And there were more dangerous developments to worry about. The bullet extracted from his chest five days ago was a physical reminder of how delicately - how cautiously - he would have to travel for the weeks to follow.

Red was a smart man.

It was a stroke of fortune to have survived as long as he had - not that he was old. He wasn't as young as he was when this part of his life commenced.

Recovery was a process that required a combination of patience and time, neither of which he enjoyed. Did he want to get back to his normal routine? Absolutely yes, but the requisite physical therapy - walking and strengthening exercises for his shoulder - took a toll. He couldn't remember ever feeling as exhausted which was ironic since he slept more in recent days than he had in years. Despite being in near-constant pain, he refused to take the medication.

He at least wanted to be able to think clearly.

In another few days, the stitches could be removed, given that the wound continued to heal properly. Soon after, he hoped to be cleared for travel by air.

That was phase one of his plan.

This particular set of circumstances was more likely to pan out for years which was a contingency of many he long prepared for. A quick resolution would be a disservice after spending a significant portion of his life trying to locate, salvage, and rebuild what had been torn from his grasp.

Then, there was Elizabeth Keen.

_His Lizzie_.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed her number and pressed the device to his ear, anxious not so much about the conversation itself but more so how she would respond to what he had to disclose to her. After four rings, her voice mail greeted him, and while the sound of her voice usually brought about a sense of calm now it inspired a hollow, sick feeling.

Had he pushed her too far?

Was it presumptuous on his part to believe that she would afford him an opportunity to explain himself, for lack of a better description, because he requested that of her?

Sighing, he closed his phone and planted it on the table next to him. He blinked a few times to stem both the tears that threatened to spill and the gnawing disappointment as his gaze moved to the very photograph that created yet another rift between them.

_You tell her the truth by telling her everything._

Simple advice.

Following through on that, however, was hard.

Diverting attention to his left, he studied Dembe who was thoroughly engrossed with assembling the puzzle - together, the pieces resembled the cabin they rarely visited but regarded as their home - and found a reason to smile.

_There's at least one thing I've done right._

Memories of Dembe as a young boy flashed in his mind's eye.

In the immediate months that followed his rescue, Dembe rarely left his side. At the time, Red couldn't imagine opening his heart again as the pain of losing his own wife and daughter was still fresh and raw, but there was a spirit in the boy's eyes that he could not ignore.

Treating his physical injuries took time, and there were some residual anger issues to deal with as well - and understandably so. Beneath the surface, however, was a well-mannered, gentle, soft-spoken child who demanded nothing except his company, and Red was happy to oblige. True, it complicated business affairs, but Dembe's presence reminded him that other things were more important.

So he delegated tasks, attending transactions only when his presence was warranted, and spent every second of every day with him.

Dembe was gifted, intelligent, equally driven to learn and explore as well as adapt to Red's lifestyle. The latter point wasn't met with much approval as Red aspired for him to experience stability and craft a life of his own - one that didn't involve moving from one location to another every couple of days, living out of suitcases, maintaining a separate "go-bag", and checking over your shoulder.

It was a lonely existence, a necessity for him.

Dembe deserved much better having spent so many years in captivity already.

However, in addition to a love of reading, linguistics, and culinary talents, they shared a stubborn streak. It was hard to dissuade either of them once a decision had been reached. Red continued to hope that years of studying at university would change his mind, but it didn't; in fact, the distance only strengthened his resolve.

He had never been prouder than the day he watched Dembe receive his English Literature degree - his attending the ceremony itself was a surprise - and they'd been inseparable since then.

_I'm not going to tell you what happened, Lizzie._

_Then I'll find out for myself._

With that, his thoughts quickly returned to brunette. He sank further into the soft leather, wincing as he inhaled deeply. She continued to perceive him as the villain, misconstrue his motivations, and a part of him could rationalize why. Intensifying his discomfort was the idea that if she wasn't turning to him there was only one possible recourse.

She wasn't likely to divulge what was transpiring between them with any member of the task force as questions and scrutiny were elements she preferred to avoid.

Dembe and Kate were the only people in his sphere that he loved, and they _knew_ him. He respected them enough to never mince words or veil anything; they would know immediately and acknowledge it in their own fashion. He envisioned Lizzie seeing him in that light as he already held her close to his heart.

She wanted to know him and vice-versa, begging the question: Would she allow that to happen?

Uncertainty.

That was the crux of their cycle of conflict.

How could he tell her that the monster she constructed in her mind and existed in an official dossier was a fabrication? How could he begin to explain that it was a morally and ethically right decision that cost him everything, transforming him into the person he was now?

Would she draw a line that a breath couldn't erase?

Would she hold herself responsible?

The desperation in her bright blue eyes haunted him as his grew increasingly heavy and after a time slipped closed. The next sensation to register was someone shaking his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he focused on Dembe, his senses gradually attuning.

It was now mid-evening, and a pair of blankets had been draped over him as well. The cat was perched on the floor by his feet, looking up at him. Even with the nap, he felt more tired than he was earlier in the day. On top of that, he was sore and pulled the soft material tighter around him. The gears in his mind began to turn.

Dembe kneeled and rested a hand on his forehead.

"We should check the incision. Clean with peroxide and apply a new bandage. The antibiotics Kate left for us should take care of the infection, assuming we've caught it early. We'll have a light supper afterward if you're up to it."

He smiled at his friend's generosity.

Dinner sounded appealing, but in truth he just wanted to sleep, preferably in his chair.

_And try to forget this day_.

Keeping the blankets around him, Red stood, feeling a twinge in his lower back as he did so, and immediately swayed. Dembe anticipated and moved to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. The distance from the living room to his bedroom wasn't a great one, but Dembe supported a majority of his weight as they walked.

He hated not being in control and having to be so dependent. The first couple of nights, Dembe had to physically help him dress because the pain was excruciating. This morning was the first he managed to dress completely on his own, and by the end he was on the verge of collapsing.

A fresh undershirt and lounge pants were already laid out for him.

Passing the blankets to his friend, albeit reluctantly, he took the garments and went into the bathroom to shower and change. He was mindful of two points; first of which was keeping his incision dry and second was to be careful when moving his right side.

Standing only in his lounge pants, Red planted his hands on either side of the sink and leaned forward, breathing heavily, studying his reflection in the mirror.

He looked exactly as he felt.

Exiting the bathroom, Dembe rose from the corner chair and quickly approached, taking the items except for the crisp white t-shirt from his arms and placing them on the closet's top shelf. He was directed to sit on the edge of the bed for the examination, his friend taking a seat on the ottoman directly across from him.

Dembe cringed, hoping to mask his worry.

Their disagreement - if you could call it that - earlier in the day about his therapy was long forgotten. In fact, he was quite pleased with Raymond's progress. If anything, he was prone to pushing himself too hard too soon, and Dembe hoped this wasn't another of those occasions.

The wound was a rather angry shade of red, the surrounding tissue was swollen, and spots of blood were visible.

"Fortunately, the stitches are in place."

Red chuckled at the younger man's sigh of relief. Kate could be difficult to deal with, especially when it came to their wellbeing, but only because she cared so much. That she instructed Dembe to call her nightly with a full report didn't come as a surprise.

"Would you prefer a relaxant capsule before I begin?"

"No, go ahead."

_Probably not the wisest decision_.

The process wasn't without discomfort, but it passed quickly. After repeat experiences through the years, both were adept and proficient at tending to their own wounds. Discarding the cu-tip and cloth, Dembe applied a second coat of healing ointment and then carefully the gauze.

Having completed that task, he gestured to the undershirt.

Once Red slid his left arm through, Dembe eased his right side in before pulling the garment over his head. Patting his friend's arm in gratitude, he reached for the vial of medication, shook out a couple tablets in his hand, and washed them down with water. Depositing the glass on the nightstand, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched out across the mattress, drained, closing his eyes again.

He opened them when he felt blankets being pulled over him. Coinciding with the mattress dipping to his left, a soft meow emanated.

Red stroked the feline's fur. He always regarded himself as more of a dog person, preferring Shepherds or Retrievers, but given his lifestyle managing a cat was easier. When she settled comfortably against his side, he diverted his attention to Dembe who instead of retiring to the adjacent bedroom settled in a chair to the immediate right of his bed.

Dembe dipped a fresh cloth into the refilled basin and applied it to both his forehead and neck. The cool felt nice.

What he did to deserve such devotion and commitment, Red would never know.

"You should get some proper rest, Dembe. I'll be fine."

No reply, except for a glare.

_Again, not surprising._

Dembe wrung out the cloth and folded it neatly, positioning it along the rim.

"Sleep, Raymond."

On any other occasion, he would have attempted to extend the argument, but he didn't have the energy for that. The medication combined with the day's events made it increasingly difficult for him to do anything but comply.

Almost immediately, Red's breathing evened out.

Dembe watched him for a few minutes before retrieving his cell phone and typing a message to Kate apprising her of Raymond's condition and furthermore assuring her that they would be alright for the night. Within seconds of hitting 'send', she replied, insisting that she be contacted upon any change.

Exchanging an additional text, he closed his phone and focused on Red, his gaze alternating from his chest as it rose and fell to his face. Extending his arm, Dembe rested his hand atop one of Red's and grasped it lightly, praying for a safe continuation of his recovery and a chance to correct his mistakes.

"I won't let you down again. I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

When _Nick's Pizza_ appeared on the caller ID, Elizabeth Keen's answering the call would have been a foregone conclusion. It was the safe choice, but the concept was foreign to her now, the anticipation of acquiring answers long replaced.

The universe was conspiring against her, she maintained. Sequences of events were deliberately manipulated in the hopes of satisfying one agenda: to tear her down. If that was the endgame, the puppet master - whoever that may be - had cause to celebrate. As the sky darkened and rain fell, she readily embraced the cold that followed.

She preferred that to the confusion, the fear, that threatened to engulf her.

_If only I could escape for awhile._

Thomas Vincent Keen.

Jacob Phelps.

She didn't have a clear read on her faux former husband. Affording him the benefit of the doubt was wrong even to the untrained eye, and yet it wasn't until she fell into his embrace and he wrapped his arms around her that she found the space she needed to breathe - to think.

When did she become this person?

How did she find herself trapped in some twisted triangle, one that she had a hand in crafting?

Why was her life now an ever-expanding calamity?

Lizzie allowed herself to laugh, reflecting on psychoanalysis, how it operates and with respect to her and Red's relationship accomplishes the opposite from it was designed for. Once, she would have dismissed the idea of having anything in common with Raymond Reddington. He was the living embodiment of a force of nature, and she was the polar opposite - or so she believed.

It turns out that they represent two sides of the same coin which made acknowledging her station in life that much harder.

She didn't want to be afraid of Red.

She shouldn't be afraid of him, but she was. She was scared of her feelings for him, the consequences should she bring herself to actualize them, and above all the disappointment that his latest revelation was almost certain to evoke.

He was her anchor, her solid ground, and she didn't want to lose that.

She couldn't.

She doubted she would survive going through that again.

_Is that why you can't be vulnerable for a second?_

_I wanted to be within reach, to have influence._

A part of her couldn't digest the knowledge that Red was responsible for bringing Tom into her life. She trusted his explanation as to why, but still...they were so different.

Lies scarcely mixed with an element of truth were the bricks and mortar of what she shared with Tom. Red, on the other hand, placed a premium on loyalty. He was a good man; though she was only afforded glimpses, that goodness was there. There was a morality to his name that Tom would never have, regardless of how determined he was to remake himself in her eyes.

Some qualities are inherent. You either have them, or you don't.

Tom's feather light kiss into her hair interrupted her reverie.

_I turned myself in to the FBI to point you toward a truth that inevitably you would have to discover for yourself._

So, what was Elizabeth Keen's truth?

The more she ruminated on the subject, the clearer it became that there was no rewriting the past. What's done is done. Sure, her life would be different had Red never entered it, but the thing about facades is that over time they crumble and lose their power over you. She and Tom would find themselves in the exact position they were in now. As for having children of her own, that would take on an even greater symbolism.

The act would honor Sam's memory, the life he gave her and its many gifts, an upbringing that wouldn't have been possible if not for Red.

As for her present, that she could control.

Lizzie lifted her head from Tom's chest, peering into his eyes.

In them, she saw hope. She hated having to be the one to take that away, but they'd lied to one another enough times already. There was no rationale to increasing the tally or adding to the hurt. A do-over only existed in fairy tales. She couldn't move forward until she let go.

"Liz?"

There was equal hesitation and expectation in his voice.

He knew.

Balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, she extricated herself from his grasp, clinging only to his forearms as the space between them grew.

"Reddington. It's him, isn't it?"

An accusation in question form.

Typical.

"My relationship with Red isn't up for discussion with you or anyone else. I've made that clear, and this isn't about him, not entirely."

She didn't owe Tom an explanation on any subject; that she was here at all was generous and a monumental lapse in judgment on her part. Given all she endured, one would argue that she was allowed to make this kind of mistake - except that didn't apply here.

If anyone deserved an explanation, it was Red.

How could she face him?

Knowing where she was now would hurt him. However, if there was some consolation to enjoy, it was the certainty that Red's moral code didn't encompass the "eye for an eye" approach. He wasn't retaliatory. Instead, his actions were conditioned on what the chain of events called for.

Demanding answers while being disingenuous was unfair.

Ultimately, it boiled down to each participating party deserving better. It was painful to liken herself to Tom in this fashion, but the world had been unkind to him as well. She deserved better. Red deserved better not only from the world, but also from her.

"This...us...Is this what you want?" Lizzie took a breath, steeling herself. "Do you even know what you want? Because I do."

"What do you want?" He asked, interest piqued.

_All I saw before me was possibility._

"I want more, and I don't mean correlations or facts. I want a life, one that doesn't involve my constantly looking backwards. I want a future. I want possibility."

"I can give you that, if you'd give me a chance to -"

She shook her head.

"No, Tom. Jacob. Take a look at what we're doing now. Really, look at it. We're pretending the past never happened. Together, that's all we'll ever do. Absolution - that's what you're after. But it's not something that can be given. It has to be earned, and I won't be your way of achieving that - I can't be. You can try and convince yourself otherwise, but the truth is that you can't give me what I want no more than I can help you."

"But _he_ can?"

The tension in the atmosphere was palpable. Quickly, she pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around her torso as the rain continued to fall - the storm showing no signs of tapering.

"You cannot go to Reddington. He's -"

"Bad for me? If he is, then what does that make you?"

"Fair enough. But Liz, you have to trust me. He's manipulating you. That's what he does. He manipulates, he pulls strings, and the moment he gets what he wants he cuts you loose. I know what I'm talking about. Reddington doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anyone. He doesn't know how to or what it means to feel."

She wasn't the least bit convinced. Instead, she was buoyed, more determined. "Those months that I held you captive on the boat, all those times I asked what you knew about Red, you offered nothing. Now, you're just a bundle of knowledge. All you can do is talk."

"Liz, I -"

"No, let me finish. You said that I have to trust you, your accounts on Reddington, but you're wrong. I admit that I don't trust myself with you, and that's entirely my fault, but that doesn't translate into my trusting you. I don't trust you. I may not know every facet of Red's agenda - what his plans are and how I factor into them - but he isn't manipulating me. I've seen with my own eyes how much he cares about the people around him. He tries to hide it, but I see it. Distancing himself from others is his defensive mechanism. That's why only a select few are close to him, really close."

Lizzie paused, the gravity of her own words sinking in. It felt easier somehow to admit what she and Red were to each other. After another calming breath, she spoke again.

"Red trusts me although I've done nothing to earn or deserve that. He's a part of my life, a part of me, and I trust him. Not you. That's what _I_ know."

Tom chewed his lip, deliberating. "You feel for him."

"Not that it's any of your business, but I do."

"That's a mistake."

"Is it? Last time I checked, he hasn't lied to me or physically struck me."

She challenged him, wanting to push the envelope.

It was a dangerous move, she realized, but Tom said nothing. Instead, he worked his jaw, imitating one of Red's mannerisms and poorly. She smiled, relishing the thrill that comes with accomplishment. This chapter of her life was given a proper close, and now she had the chance to start a new one.

_Fortune favors the brave._

Keeping her eyes on Tom, she backed away, turning her back to him only when she reached the driver's side door. Once inside, Lizzie turned the key in the ignition and drove off, leaving Tom standing in the rain.

Thirty minutes later, she turned onto Wisconsin Avenue and parked in front of the complex that she vacated hours ago. Reaching for her wallet, she unveiled the silver key from the rear pocket and clenched her right hand into a fist - the cool item pressed firmly against her palm.

That Red didn't ask her to relinquish her copy was a bit of a surprise; then again, between the two of them, Dembe was more likely to make that request.

If ever there was a man of the fewest words possible, it was him. His frustration, however, that was hard to miss. Dembe and Red were so similar. She's still in the dark about how they came to be in each other's lives. From their interactions and synchronicity, she gauged that they'd been together from almost the beginning of Red's quest.

They were more than partners, colleagues.

Theirs was deeper than any relationship she had either experienced or witnessed.

An olive branch was extended to her in the form of trust, and she violated that through her actions a week ago and those from earlier today. Trust wasn't the easiest thing to recover, even more so after a second breach, but she refused to acquiesce. She would do whatever was necessary to repair it.

She wondered if Red would allow that.

He hadn't denied her anything thus far, but everyone has a breaking point - including him. But she was going to try because her relationship with Red, however complicated and cloaked in mystery, was worth fighting for.

_He_ was worth fighting for.


	3. Chapter 3

In order to achieve a different outcome, one has to reexamine his/her approach.

If she was going to make good on all she professed to Tom, Lizzie had to modify her behavior toward Red, how she treated him - beginning with respect to privacy. Yes, she had a key to his domain, but being in its possession wasn't the equivalent of having the right to enter.

She couldn't just march up the stairs, insert the item into the lock, and turn it.

Cell phone now in hand, she reviewed her log, highlighted his number, and pressed 'call'. She let it ring a few times, receiving no answer which was atypical. Dembe answered Red's phone after two rings, three maximum. Disconnecting the call, she looked out of her window, her eyes soon fixed on where she estimated his apartment to be.

There was no sign of light.

It was late, but Lizzie knew firsthand that neither man was one for sleep. How either man functioned at such a high capacity astonished her. She waited a couple minutes before trying again.

No answer.

_Great. Now, he's avoiding me._

Irritation - that was her defense mechanism.

Given her new operandi, she would have to find another mode of response when the situation didn't pan out as she hoped for. Her gaze still trained on his window, she found herself not so much curious but concerned, worried. Memories from earlier in the day become clearer, more defined. Only now did it occur to her how much physical discomfort Red was in when they met on the terrace of Leonard Caul's safe house.

His movements lacked their usual ease and fluidity, his expression pinched. Even his voice was less rich. She felt ashamed for not once thinking of him, or extending any offer of kindness.

A singular focus was an asset when operating in the field. While her and Red's exchanges primarily concerned such matters, it was another error on her part to allow such focus to carry over and ultimately misguide. She wouldn't do that again.

Securing her cell phone and purse, Lizzie exited the car, shutting the door and enabling the alarm as she approached the main entrance. She crossed the lobby and navigated the staircase, following the trail to the second floor, and made her way to the end of the corridor. Inhaling deeply, she began to question the wisdom of it all.

_This was necessary, right?_

It was.

Simple as that.

She was exactly where she needed to be.

Her right hand still clenched tight, Lizzie raised her left and knocked, unconsciously leaning inward. She pressed her ear against the door, trying to identify any activity or motion from the opposite end.

Another door being pulled open - or drawn to a close.

Minimal shuffling.

Light footsteps across the hardwood floors.

Soon after, the door opened to reveal Dembe regarding her with hard eyes as she expected. While not blocking her path, he didn't seem inclined to invite her in either, crossing his arms over his chest. "You shouldn't be here."

That was his greeting.

No _Agent Keen_ or _Liz_.

He was direct, straight to the point.

"I know that, and you're right. I'm sorry for just showing up like this, Dembe. I just..." She paused, chewing her lip. "I need to see Red. Please, this can't wait."

"Would your presence here coincide with another of Tom's suggestions, or is this a desire of your own? Perhaps you didn't create a large enough mess for us to have to clean up earlier, so you thought you'd return and toss around more objects, or in the alternative you want to apologize."

She was taken aback not so much by his inquiry, but more so the recrimination attached to it. When structuring her observations, she failed to account for the effect that her decisions as well as her actions would have on Dembe.

"I met with Tom. I'm here in part because of that meeting, but believe me when I tell you that he gave me no directive. Even if he tried to, I wouldn't listen."

_He's gone. My husband is gone._

_Your husband never existed._

Maybe there was some truth to her being a crappy profiler.

That was another matter to dwell on privately at a later date.

"He's not my husband. He never was - I get that now. And I do..." She chewed her lip. "What I did today, I was wrong, and again I'm sorry. I understand if Red doesn't want to see me right now, but - "

"You still don't understand!" Dembe interjected, his exasperation all the more apparent. "Agent Keen, this isn't just Raymond's place of residence. It's mine as well. This is one of only a handful of locations that he and I consider home."

As he paused, gathering his composure, Lizzie stood in place - taking in his words.

"Raymond, as usual, was correct in his assessment - that my reasoning for sending you here extended beyond your recovering the interface and meeting with Caul. _He wanted you to discover secrets_ , those were his exact words. I hoped that your coming here would improve your perception of Raymond, that you would see or begin to see him for the man he is - the man I know. I was trying to help your situation, but instead I've accomplished the opposite. Twice in the span of a week, I have failed him."

Lizzie felt a rush of empathy for him.

"I digress. Back to the original point, Agent Keen. I know you want to talk to Raymond, but it'll have to wait. I'm sorry, but you have to leave now."

"I can't. If Red's asking you to keep me away, then - " She regretted her choice of words but couldn't stop them from coming out.

_Old habits do die hard._

"This isn't his request. It's mine." His voice was hard, firm and intimidating. "Raymond is sleeping now. Earlier, he became ill. I need to get back to him."

_Red._

_Sick._

"Will he be alright?"

"What difference does that make to you?" Lizzie remained perfectly still as Dembe collected himself, taking several breaths. "Through your actions today, not only did you violate our trust, but once again you've violated our home. An apology, however nice or beneficial it may be for you, isn't enough."

_Again?_

"Dembe, when did I - "

"Six months ago. At your request, Agent Mojtabai reviewed Mr. and Mrs. Hyland's phone record which you subsequently used to pinpoint their - more accurately, her - location. Am I interpreting the events correctly, Agent Keen?"

Lizzie nodded, feeling more embarrassed.

"Do you remember the cabin?"

_How could she forget?_

"It was Raymond's long before we came to be in each other's lives, but if it was possible that is where we would reside permanently. He and I have spoken of that often. Before, when I discussed my reasoning for directing you here, you should know that I omitted one detail."

"That is?"

"I feared that you would get him killed."

She felt her grip on control spiraling. "Get him killed? I would never - "

"You called the task force, providing them with the exact address of the warehouse. Raymond was in surgery at the time, _life-saving surgery_."

That reality wasn't lost on her.

"Before the situation escalated even further, we were able to relocate, a dangerous move given that Raymond was still unstable, but _you_ left us with no other option. Factoring Tom's presence - either by design or accidental - into the equation, our outcome was...fortunate."

"It was a mistake. I'm guilty of making a number of them, but I do care for Red. I wouldn't be standing here now if I didn't. It took my meeting with Tom to remind me of that fact."

She paused, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, and inched forward.

"And I'm not leaving until I see him."

The silence stretched as they stared at each other, two pieces on a chess board fighting for position, for control, evaluating every potential move and their counters. Eventually, the quiet was broken not by sound or a declaration, but through action.

Dembe shifted his stance, no longer blocking the doorway, and extended an arm toward her.

An unspoken invitation.

Crossing the threshold, Lizzie's gaze fell to the partially open door.

_Red's bedroom_ , she deduced.

Securing the lock behind him, Dembe moved to the living room area, retrieving a throw from the leather sofa and returned to Lizzie's side, passing the garment to her.

She'd forgotten being drenched and cold.

"Thanks." Wrapping the soft knit material around her upper torso, she hummed in appreciation. To her delight, it smelled like Red.

"Come with me."

Without hesitation, she walked alongside him, her anticipation of being in the same room as Red growing with every step. Carefully, Dembe eased the door open, and her eyes fell to the man lying on the bed asleep, but not peacefully. He appeared flush and trembled despite having a pair of blankets covering most of his torso. The kitten sat up slightly, watching her. The bedside table was littered with a half-filled basin, cloths, and what appeared to be a log of some kind.

A temperature log.

Not that she doubted the validity of anything Dembe relayed to her, but having visual confirmation was still a shock to her system.

For a moment, Lizzie regretted being so insistent, but like before she rushed to his side, nearly knocking into Dembe, and took the chair next to his bed, draping the throw across its back. She studied his face, noting the perspiration along his brow. Reaching for a cloth, she dipped one into the basin and then applied it to both his forehead and neck intermittently.

Lizzie whispered into his ear. "Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be okay." She repeated that over and over, like a mantra. Those simple words spoken by him gave her so much comfort, and with the situation now being reversed she hoped to achieve the same effect.

Red never stirred.

Occasional groans were the only indication that her touch registered.

When the tremors subsided and his breathing calmed, Lizzie wrung out the cloth and positioned it along the basin's rim - anticipating having to reach for it again at some point. Pressing her hand to his cheek, feeling the slight stubble there, she reflected on her tenure in the hospital a few months prior, remembering how equally surprised and happy she was to wake and find him there, holding her hand.

He never stopped looking out for her.

Why no longer mattered.

Establishing that, she'd reached another decision: she wasn't going anywhere tonight. Pulling her eyes away from Red, she looked toward the window and smiled at whatever form of fate was looking down on them as once again it was raining heavily.

"You'll stay with us, Liz. It's not safe to travel."

_Was reading her mind another commonality he shared with Red?_

Dembe had brought another chair over and sat next to her, looking to her briefly before returning his eyes to Red. Reaching for the log, Lizzie studied the entries, particularly interested by the time stamp of the first. It was less than an hour after the call she ignored.

"His temperature has dropped considerably since my initial check several hours ago. He's down nearly four full degrees, maintaining a steady 101 for the past three."

Ear thermometers tended to be less accurate, but she understood Dembe's reasoning for their use.

In order to heal, Red needed uninterrupted rest.

They agreed that, within the hour, he needed to be woken for a proper check. If his temperature remained constant, they would let him sleep through morning or longer. According to Dembe, he had no meetings or appointments on the next day's schedule.

"You take care of him."

It was a statement, not a question. She continued to stroke the sleeping man's face.

He nodded. "We take care of each other."

Dembe was silent for awhile. Despite sitting so close, his eyes suggested that he was far away, reflecting on a prior memory perhaps. Truthfully, she didn't expect him to elaborate further on the subject, but he did.

"Twenty-one years ago, that's when we met. I was fourteen at the time, and Raymond...he saved my life, took me in, raised me. My family - father, mother, and older brothers - were killed eight years before. I watched it happen. I still remember them but only in fragments, pieces."

Lizzie blinked back tears, listening to Dembe's account.

"You're entitled to have questions, to want answers, and find it difficult to trust people, but I assure you. Raymond isn't the person that your government portrays him to be. He doesn't enjoy withholding information from you and only has your best interests in mind."

"I know all of that. I just...I wish that he would talk to me, trust me to make my own decisions instead of making them for me."

Dembe smiled. "He does that but only because he cares. He wants more for you, to be sure that circumstances don't determine the path your life takes. Be patient with him, Elizabeth."

He patted her shoulder before each focused on Red again. This time, the silence between them was a more comfortable one, tension replaced by a shared concern, and it afforded her the opportunity to get a proper look at him.

She saw the lines around his eyes and mouth.

"You look tired."

He nodded in concession. "I'll rest only when I'm sure Raymond is okay."

Lizzie shook her head. "No. You won't be any good to Red if you don't take care of yourself. He's going to need you as he recovers."

"I made a promise years ago that I wouldn't let anything happen to him - "

"And it won't. I'll stay with him tonight, Dembe. I won't leave his side. I promise."

He appeared to give her words some thought, realizing that this was an argument he would be on the losing end of.

_Raymond wouldn't be alone._

That knowledge made him feel marginally better about retiring to his room. As certain as he was that Raymond would never have wanted her to see him in this condition, he was equally confident in the degree of comfort he would draw from her presence.

For the pair, this was a true step forward. To what end remained to be seen.

Standing, Dembe reached over Liz and planted a hand on Red's forearm. He recited what sounded like a prayer before regarding her again.

"If he asks for me..."

Completing the thought was unnecessary. Carefully, he reached over his brother and scooped the kitten into his arms. Taking in the scene one last time, satisfied, he slipped away from the bedroom, leaving her and Red alone.

Allowing her eyes to roam over the man, she focused on his chest. Fine golden hairs and the ends of the gauze dressing peeked out from beneath his undershirt.

_This journey we're on isn't over just yet. You may have given up on us, but I haven't._

Us.

Lizzie flattened the palm of her right hand over his heart, needing to feel him, to feel his heart pulse under her touch. Why she couldn't initiate the contact while Dembe was in the room, she couldn't explain. It wasn't as if she hadn't done so before. Maybe it was Red's being oblivious to all that was going on that stopped her.

Or maybe it was fear.

Fear of the same sequence appearing in her mind with vivid detail.

Red was in a similar position. Replacing a warm, comfortable bed, however, was the cold, filthy pavement. She remembered Dembe taking her hands, using them to apply pressure to his chest, before covering hers with his.

Her storming away couldn't be Red's last memory of her.

That's all Lizzie could think of, feeling his life slip away and being powerless to prevent it. They weren't supposed to end like that, not when so much more had been promised to her. Even in an imperfect world, there was...possibility.

It had to be.

Otherwise, what was the point?

Lifting her eyes to his face, she smiled as his expression was more relaxed. He looked boyish, innocent and younger. Checking her watch, she regretted having to disturb him. She wasn't going to encourage or coerce him into discussion - not tonight - because he owed her nothing, and she owed him everything.

"Red."

Lizzie called his name, applying light pressure to his shoulder and not wanting to startle him. The only response she received was a sigh, his face wrinkling a bit, before he shifted away from her. Just as quickly, his breathing deepened again.

Leaning inward, she waited a few seconds and then shook him with a little more force.


	4. Chapter 4

He was in his own bed. That much he knew, but everything else was a blur. Hands prodded at him. Voices, one male and one female, spoke over him. Red tried to concentrate, but that required too much energy. It hurt to blink. Best to stay still, try not to move much.

He had no sense of how much time elapsed.

The pull of both the medication and his body's fundamental need was not only too powerful to fight against, but also more inviting. He surrendered to the dark. Sadly, he didn't enjoy that bliss for as long as he preferred.

It was a shame that advances in technology didn't extend to medicine, he thought. Red wanted to tell whoever was shaking his shoulder to leave him alone, but that changed when the voice became increasingly insistent, clear.

Not just any voice, but _her_ voice.

As difficult as it was to focus, there was no mistaking the owner.

_Lizzie._

_What was she doing here?_

Following the sound of her voice, Red turned his head and blinked his eyes, desperate to open them and eventually succeeding. If not for the warmth of one of her hands on his chest, the other now on his face, he would have sworn he was losing all grasp on illusion versus truth.

The attention and concern on her face surprised him.

What changed?

As he recalled, she was disappointed in him, distancing herself from him and walking away as she so often does with only one point of deviation. In closing the door to him, she re-opened it and allowed Tom to walk through instead.

Her presence now at his side only meant one thing.

"Lizzie. Are you - "

Call it instinct or adrenaline. Red sat up quickly, scanning the young woman for injuries, and was reminded of his own. He grimaced in pain and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm fine, Red. I'm okay." She assured him, reaching behind to fluff his pillow and supporting him as he leaned back onto the mattress. He was grateful to be in a more upright position. The initial question still lingered, but he was relieved to know she wasn't harmed.

Deep breaths.

Inhale. Then, exhale.

He repeated that several times, hoping to stem both his heartbeat and the latest round of tremors. Taking full inventory, his joints weren't nearly as sore or as heavy, but he wasn't comfortable either. On top of that, he was cold. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he marveled at Lizzie who took the ends of each blanket in her hands and pulled them upward.

Intuition and experience informed him that this wasn't a moment to prolong, but rather one to savor and cling to for as long as possible, and Red was determined to do just that. He allowed his eyes to drift closed, opening them when her hand returned to his face.

He leaned further into her touch.

_When someone does something nice, you're supposed to say 'thank you'._

"Better?"

"Hmm..." He nodded, holding her gaze. "You shouldn't be here."

"So I've been told. I wanted to be here, Red."

What was he supposed to say to that, apart from the obvious? Fortunately, Lizzie took the decision out of his hands by retrieving a thermometer from his nightstand and holding the item before him. He knew the drill, but she elaborated anyway.

"Dembe has monitored your temperature throughout the night, writing it down. And we need to take another reading."

_We?_

Using the plurality drew attention to her tell.

Applying the device under his tongue, their eyes locked as they stared at each other, dancing their traditional number, feeling each other out as they waited. When it beeped, she took the object from his mouth and busied herself with the display.

"100.7." She offered with a smile, jotting the figure down before returning the notepad, pen, and thermometer to its earlier position.

She was being evasive.

He could feel it.

Whereas his manifestation was physical, external, Lizzie tended to talk around the matter she was afraid to give voice to. What could she have been so anxious about? He was tired and more alert simultaneously. Covering her right hand as it found its way back to his chest with his left, he traced the back with his thumb, not wanting to disturb the quiet but knowing that he had to.

"Sweetheart. Why are you here? That's not to say that I'm sorry you are, but I just...I'd like to know why. I need to know."

She looked at him, exasperated. "I already told you, Red. I'm here because I want to be."

_She's in this right now because of you._

"And that's all? You're not here because of Tom?"

What he thought was irritation flashed on her features. Dembe must have asked the same question.

"Tom may have said something, but that's not why..." Lizzie paused, chewing her lip, and resumed. "We can talk more about this later, Red. You need to rest."

"Not as much as I need you."

It was now or never as far as reaching the point of total truth. Though he believed that actions carried more weight than words, if she needed to hear him say aloud how he important she was to him and that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, he would.

Her wish was his command.

Surprise followed by acceptance.

Perhaps, he hadn't given her powers of anticipation as much credit as they deserved. In more than one fashion, Lizzie was holding back.

Red sat silent, following her eyes which rested on their hands. He laced his fingers through hers, reminiscent of the afternoon they spent in the park more than a year ago, and encouraged her to speak again only when she was ready to.

"Tom said that you were a bad man, that you weren't good for me."

"He's right."

Lizzie looked at him then. "You don't get to make all of the decisions, Red. That's not how a relationship works."

_A relationship?_

"That story you told me, the one about the fish in Mexico, you spoke of a ray of light. I'm your ray of light. You were talking about me, weren't you?" Despite the structure, her tone suggested that she was saying it aloud more so for herself rather than expecting him to either confirm or deny it.

"As much as my going to Tom must have hurt you, I won't apologize for that because something good came from it. He reminded me of what you are to me, what you represent and bring to my life."

"Destruction. Pain." Red interjected, wincing with every syllable. "It's been suggested that I hurt you the most."

Again, a look of surprise which softened into one of understanding. "Tom's been talking a lot recently. He was wrong to say that to you, to speak for me. Hear enough lies and after awhile you start to believe them, and you shouldn't. They're wrong. I was wrong."

"But I have hurt you."

"Yes, but it's a different kind of pain. It's not physical. It's born from skepticism. You know so much about me, about my life, and yet despite all the time I've spent with you I know next to nothing about you. Not Red, but just _you_. I understand you, but...Raymond Reddington, you are a mystery to me, and that's frustrating."

He blinked, memorizing the sound of his full name coming from her lips, and squeezed her hand, looking at her in awe.

"You challenge me, and I need that."

It was fascinating to watch the gears of her mind work.

"I was wrong to try and compartmentalize my feelings for you, to think that it would make interacting with you and being around you easier. Fighting complicates everything, and the same goes for hiding. I'm not so naive that I don't suspect you know what I'm about to say already. You're more than an asset or an assignment. You're my partner, during and away from work, which makes talking even more important."

"Certain things are painful to discuss. Remembering is hard enough without..." He paused, taking a breath, waiting for the sudden throb in his chest to abate. "I'm not the same person, the same man, I was then. Parts of him are here, depending on who you ask."

"Dembe knows you best, and I'm sure he would disagree with you."

"We both have people in our circles who divulge too much." It was nice to hear her laugh. If not for his discomfort, he would've joined her. "He's a good man. I barely remember what it's like, to be that kind of person. This life, the life I lead, it's not for everyone. Often, I wonder how different his - or yours - would be if I hadn't - "

She interrupted him. "Don't. You have regrets, things you wish you could take back, but people are grateful to you - including me. Even with everything that's happened, I'm not sorry that you're in my life. Neither is Dembe. He would do anything for you just as you would do for him and have done for me. If anyone should be sorry, it's me."

_Nonsense._

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

He noticed her attention shift to his neck. Her eyes were tracing the scar she had given him.

"I hurt you too. I haven't been the greatest listener, but I want to be a better one for you. For _us_. That's what I told Tom tonight. I want to work at this, what we have." She gestured between them. "First, you have to promise me."

He was intrigued. "Promise what?"

Her gaze alternated between his face, his chest, and their still clasped hands. "Don't let this happen again."

"I'll try my best, sweetheart." He joked lightly.

"No, Red. Promise me." She demanded. Once again, she brought her free hand to his face, stroking his brow. "You have me, and I have you. We have each other. That's my definition of a relationship. Promise me that you won't forget that."

"Never."

Red turned further into her touch, his eyes increasingly heavy. He was exhausted again and knew she was aware of that as she soothed him, coaxing him to stop struggling and rest. There was one thing he didn't want to leave unspoken.

"I didn't love your mother, Lizzie. I barely knew her. Reading a person's file doesn't always count as discovering the truth."

She nodded, agreeing with him.

"She and I worked on opposing sides, but ultimately our agendas were the same - to protect that which we held dear. The night of the fire, we both failed. I..." He shuddered at the collection of memories that appeared. "I failed my wife and my daughter. I lost them because of a single decision, a promise."

"A promise? You promised my mother something?"

"Not exactly. She...The decision wasn't hers to make." He could tell that Lizzie was confused and to be frank as unsure as he was. This was new ground, requiring a degree of caution, but the inability to change course came with making a decision and standing by it.

"To take care of a little girl, to spare her from paying the ultimate price for her parents' crimes, that was the promise I made." She opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it. "Reaching through the flames, saving you, was the last thing that the 'Raymond Reddington' you're searching for ever did."

_You saved me?_

He imagined she was filling in the details of her fractured memory, looking away as she did so, and debated what he would find in her gaze when their eyes met again.

_She's volatile, unpredictable. Soft. Then, hard. Then, soft again._

Would she look at him with revulsion?

Detachment?

Pity?

Red winced when she leaned inward, fearing the worst, and was surprised when Lizzie rested her forehead against his. He closed his eyes, breathing her in.

"It wasn't my father. It was you. You're the man I remember pulling me from the closet. You're the same man laying on the floor, unconscious, burning." The tears streaming down her face broke his heart. "My mother...she left me. We were left behind to die."

"Yes." He answered, framing her face in his hands, brushing away her tears only to end up shedding a few of his own.

"I...I ran over to you. I touched you." She looked at him then, and his breath hitched. "That's how I got the scar on my palm. The fire, the flames, they touched both of us."

Lizzie soon worked her free hand under the sleeve of his t-shirt, her fingertips finding the marred skin beginning just above his elbow. In her eyes, he saw pride and another emotion he couldn't assign a label to as it was the very one he had long ago opted to close himself off from.

His capacity for love was his greatest strength and weakness.

As long as he didn't actualize his emotions, he would be fine, but seeing Lizzie now he doubted not only his own resolve but hers also.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

For a moment, he deliberated and then offered. "Abandonment shouldn't be the last memory any child has of his or her parent."

"No, it shouldn't."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"No, it's...good. It's fine." Lizzie slid her hand from his elbow, planting it on the edge of the mattress. Her right palm remained open, resting over his heart. Her eyes were red but oddly bright. She chewed her lip before speaking again.

"Thank you."

Red remained silent, instead searching her expression for any sign that she was covering and finding none. Running his thumbs along each side of her face, he kissed her forehead, humbled. It was much more than he deserved. He was damaged, perhaps not beyond repair as he once proclaimed but affected nonetheless.

He sank back into the cushions and looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes, opting to focus on the immediate, the present.

The simple pleasure of her company.

Lizzie pulled back slightly, still in his grasp and peering into him. She scoffed. "Look at us. You're supposed to be resting, and instead you're taking care of me. And we're crying about the past. I should be the one taking care of you."

He shook his head. "We have each other. That's our deal, isn't it? And you are. You're being here, it helps. It helps more than you know."

The statements elicited the desired effect.

"I should let you get your rest now." She said, her hand lingering on his chest for a few more seconds before standing.

Red sighed, feeling the loss of her touch immediately. Lizzie reached behind him to adjust his pillows, then supported his shoulders as he lay flat on the mattress. He arched his eyebrows when she resettled in the chair at his bedside.

"You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Sit there all night."

"Well, I'm not leaving you alone, Red. I'm staying."

"No, my Lizzie. You misunderstand." He shifted a bit, wincing. "The bed's big enough for two. Come on. Lay down with me. I assure you, I won't try anything."

Now, it was her turn to be apprehensive. Her expression, her worried brow in combination with her chewing her bottom lip again, was adorable actually.

"Are you sure? I mean...Is it okay?"

"It's fine. Believe me, sweetheart. I understand your hesitation. I'm...just as nervous as you are."

She chuckled again. "I doubt that."

"There's a comfort in having someone laying next to you, and I just..." He trailed off, gathering his words. "It's been a long time since I've slept, really just slept, with someone, and I would feel better - safer - if you were next to me. We both would."

Again, she smiled at him, agreeing. "You're right. I would like that."

Red followed Lizzie's every move. She removed her jacket, folded it neatly, and then placed it in the chair seat before rounding the bed, approaching from his left. Her blue blouse clung to her frame, and gauging by her posture she was still feeling the effects of the chilly, stormy evening.

Their eyes locked, and in them was the same question - the incredulity - echoing in his mind.

_Is this happening?_

Sharing both her anxiety and anticipation, he opened the blankets, extending his left arm away from his body and wrapping it around her shoulders as she laid down next to him. She readjusted the blankets so they were both covered and easily curled into him.

Lizzie rested her head on his shoulder, draping her left arm across his waist.

He closed his eyes, relishing her warmth and on the verge of sleep again. These factors along with the rain hitting the windows with greater intensity made the conditions all the more conducive to a sound rest. As a boy, he loved the cadence.

"Is this okay?"

"Hmmm...perfect."

Last to register as he drifted off was her whispering: _'My Raymond'_.

**THE END**


End file.
